


The Wheel Turns

by Subbed_Demon



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Anal Sex, Dubious Consent, Feral Keith, M/M, Rough Sex, Torture, Violence, prisoner
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-01
Updated: 2020-04-14
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:29:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23420971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Subbed_Demon/pseuds/Subbed_Demon
Summary: Shiro is a traveling minstrel, making his coin on the open road. When he hears tale of the Fae Hill, and the UnSeelie who lives below it, he not only doesn't believe it, he uses it as part of an ill fated dare to earn a little more. When he gets to the hill and the Elfin Tree, he sees a black rose. Despite ominous warnings, he pulls it from the ground. The Fae, the UnSeelie named Keith, rises, furious for the insult. He offers Shiro a chance to live, while paying for his crime. When Shiro accepts, he knows not just how deep he will go, nor the very real dangers of the Fae Land. But even through these circumstances, there is something he sees in Keith, and yearns for something more from his captor.
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 22





	1. Into The Hill

**Author's Note:**

> This is definitely going to be in chapters, and not only will i be posting in a thread on Twitter, but I'll be posting each chapter as I go. I will edit in more tags as we go along. This will be dark, but it will have sweetness. And I don't intend to have a bad end, but... Nothing is guaranteed.

The Wheel Turns.

Two souls tied to each other are born in one of countless worlds. Variation, each the same yet different, all bound to mark each other’s lives. Soul bound, their union not guaranteed, but implied. Implied as strongly as Fate can manage.

The Wheel Turns.

Another Moon. Another Sun. Each bound to set the stars in the other’s eyes.

-

It began as most trouble a traveling minstrel can find himself in, with a beer and a boastful dare. 

Shiro had come to this town in the morning, his feet aching from the road and hungry eyes to match his stomach. It had been a day and a half travel between the last settlement and the lonesome road wasn’t great company. He missed his horse, but a broken leg was a death sentence for such a beast, even as fine as she. He walked into the tavern, lute case in hand, with all the welcome of a wet dog. That didn’t matter much these days, his time of seeking social acceptance long behind him.

The barkeep wasn’t too bad to him. Most could be persuaded of some level of tolerance once you showed them that you did have two coins to rub together. Of course, Shiro had asked who the local lord was, only to be met with a scoff and a dismissive tone. 

“Don’t even bother,” said the stout man behind the counter. “He’s already managed to find a halfway decent harper to patron. He’d not be interested in the likes of you.” Shiro’s hopes thoroughly dashed, he sought the next best alternative than merely busking on the street.

“What about here? Surely some music would be welcome amongst your lovely customers?” He put on his best grin, hoping he wouldn’t have to bear the weather outside without some respite. The summer had given way to fall, and he didn’t have the clothes for it, nor the money to buy them. The barkeep eyed him, seeking for reason to think he was either a thief or a troublemaker.

“You can have a spot for dinner,” he said, deciding Shiro was neither. “Near the fireplace. I’ll give you a stool. You play for two hours at least. I’ll give you bread and stew, and a glass of beer. I get half of what you make, and I’ll even count it toward your room and board. You make up the difference if you don’t make enough.” He stared at Shiro, no compromise in his gaze. 

The half part would hurt, but the prospect of a hot meal, maybe even a place to sleep that wasn’t hard earth, made Shiro’s decision. It wasn’t the first shitty deal he’d made in the last few years of his life. He nodded.

“Thank you.” He tried to sound more grateful than he was. He knew times were hard. A war to the East were bleeding common folk dry in taxes, and it wasn’t like they had a lot to begin with. Sure, the farmlands produced fertile land, and the Guilds kept on trading, but so many laborers were left with as much as they’ve always had. In this land, that never amounted to easy lives. 

He ate half a bowl of stew, breaking the loaf into pieces to sop it up. No meat, and hardly any vegetables, but it quelled his hunger to a murmur. Shiro was thankful. It wouldn’t be the first time if the barkeep had simply denied him. Especially after the war had begun. 

Shiro went to his spot near the fire, warming his hands against the heat. Once the cold left, he took out his bread and butter. He tuned the lute up, taking care to make minute adjustments to the pegs. Shiro couldn’t afford strings, and he wasn’t even sure he could get more here. He knew how to make them, but even that would take a few days for the gut to be sufficiently dry to attempt. Once His Lady, as he called Her, was in tune, he cycled through the scales of notes, warming his fingers to the deftness required. Then, the fun began.

Shiro had a deep voice, a baritone that seeped into the light tenor when he took care of his voice and didn’t have a cold. Perfect for the many ballads he picked up along his travels. That was the thing he loved about music. If you had the right instrument, and time, you could focus and perfect. He was patient enough to listen to the heart of a song, and to work to give that heart in each performance. Even for a small tavern, he sang the words to life, as much as he would for any lord or lady.

The townsfolk came in for lunch, and many turned their heads in surprise at the music. It wasn’t unheard of, but the kind of musicians who frequented taverns were not much to speak of. Most anyone of real talent were picked up by a patron. Shiro had been offered patronage enough times to know he technically was above playing in taverns. But the idea of being linked to a town, even in a comfortable life, was not something he could really accept. He lived to see, to hear, and to sing of it. The love of it all, however marred by real life despair, kept him sane like a set place never could.

The coppers came, more than Shiro could have hoped for. Either he was really reaching people, or it had been so long since they had seen anything decent that hearing correct chords and a voice that didn’t sound like a cat drowning was enough to open their purses. Shiro hadn’t asked how much a room was, but he was sure he had secured it from the lunch performance alone. 

He played after the rush was gone, and only the barkeep and Shiro were left. The stout man came over, moving his hand to stop Shiro as his song came to an end. 

“I see why you asked for the lord. You play well, boy.” He voice was still gruff, but the warmth was there. They counted out the pieces, and the man agreed that he had a room for the night. Shiro insisted on playing for the dinner crowd, to which the barkeep agreed. Taking his belongings with him, Shiro set his pack on the bed and laid down for a spell.  
He was up not long after, internal clock as trustworthy as ever. Looking into the mirror before his wash bowl, Shiro saw the dark circles below his eyes. The thinness in his face. Living on the road probably wasn’t the best idea. Least of all, knowing his time with living was limited regardless.

Shiro knew he was sick. He didn’t know with what. But he was dying. It made his decision to see as much of the world while he could even more important. While his limbs still obeyed him. While he could still make music. Before the tremble in his arms took away his music, and his legs refused to carry him any longer. He owed it to the parents he could barely remember, and the grandparents who set him on the trek of seeing what world he could. And Shiro owed it to himself. 

-

Shiro walked with a pep in his step, accepting the rest of the stew and bread he was owed and devouring it fast. He’d save the beer for after his performance. Already, a few of the people who had been in for lunch were seated, and people came in two’s, having been told by friends and family. The barkeep seemed in a better mood than the lines on his face told of his usual days. With nothing more to do, Shiro took his stool, tuned up his Lady, and played.

The world moved on as he played like it was water. He didn’t have an interruption of hand tremors through the set, and he sang like his life depended on it. Love, adventure, war, a brother’s envy of his sibling’s wife, and all the topics of story, they all were fodder for his to share. He sang, and the people listened. He never felt more at place than this feeling that he had when he sang and played.

He finished up with his favorite ballad. A knight, seeking the Fae, and finding them. Being whisked away to the Faery Land and being held in bondage to a world not his own. The trials only began as he was tempted by Fae food, drink and body. But he held fast, gracious and bold, and won his freedom. Gifted with the sight to See the Fae, he was welcomed back into his own realm as a hero, becoming a Seer in his latter years. It was fantastic, and it held all the delight of a world full of magic. It was one of the first songs he learned to play, and it was a sure closer. 

The people clapped, but more than a few eyed him with distrust. Shiro set his Lady back in her case. He knew the risk in playing that song. Tales of the Fae in these lands always held them in some level of contempt. Everyone and their mother knew of someone whisked away, never to be seen again due to the whims of the Fae.

Shiro counted the coin. There were even a few small silver marks tossed into the pile. This might be enough to keep him fed for a week or two, maybe even for a new coat. But then he remembered that half went to the barkeep, and he soured. But he was true to his work, carrying the lot up and counting it out to show he wasn’t a cheat. Once it had been split, Shiro saw that he did have enough to at least keep him from starving. Maybe if he sang another night…

“That was good, boy,” said the barkeep. “Best we’ve had in a few seasons. But,” he lowered his voice, “best not be singing songs like that last one around here. People here don’t like the Fae, don’t want to welcome trouble that they bring.”

“You surely don’t think they’re more than songs, do you?” asked Shiro. “Tales to keep the little ones from going out at night?” Shiro had never really believed. He hadn’t seen a Fae, only heard tales and songs. The stories were just that to him.

“I know, boy.” The barkeep sniffed. “Don’t need to believe what you already know. The hill to the East of the town has always held more than enough proof than I ever needed. There is a Fae who lives under the hill. UnSeelie, proud, and quick to anger.” He shivers, lowering his voice further. “My brother once told me much the same as you said, when we were no taller than your hip. Said he didn’t believe, that he’d show me they all were stories to scare us from misbehaving. Went to the hill by himself, at twilight. Never saw him again.” 

Shiro wondered if the older man was pulling his leg. If he was, he was a damn good actor. His eyes seemed haunted enough. The barkeep gave him his beer, took his part of the earnings, and went to clean glasses. Shiro drank slowly. It didn’t take him much to get drunk, so he couched it. But an idea was forming in his head, and he wondered if maybe he couldn’t get something out of this other than another tale of a stolen sibling. 

“Barkeep,” Shiro waved him down as the work he had to do winded down. He kept his voice low. “I have a proposal for you. I won’t sing of the Fae again, but I can’t say I believe. How about this? I go to this hill while it’s still twilight, and I stay there till dark. If I come back, I get to keep all my earnings from playing, and I get one more night to board, free. If I don’t,” he set all the coins he had received for the days playing, “you get to keep this money, and you can warn the next fool who thinks he knows better of my folly. What do you say?” The barkeep stared at him, counting the coin before him and weighing his options. 

“You’re a fool, boy. But, if you want to learn the hard way, suit yourself.” He swept the coin into his hand and set it beneath the counter. “Best be off, before twilight dies. For what it’s worth,” he said, looking at Shiro with slightly hollow eyes, “you play beautifully. Pity your pride is too large for your own good.” 

Shiro finished the beer, feeling giddy. “I’ll be back for my coin and my room.” He took his lute case, and strode to the door, happy that the man’s superstition was going to set him back on his feet for long enough.

“No, you won’t.” The barkeep sounded sad, but Shiro didn’t look back.

-

There it was. This was surely the place. The tree was perfect. Elfin, was what they called it. It stood tall as an oak, it’s bark smooth. When the season turned to spring, it would peel, easy enough to use as rudimentary paper in a pinch. Shiro strode up, feeling winded. The tremor in his right hand had begun at the foot of the hill, and it wasn’t stopping any time soon. 

“At least you had the decency to wait until after I was done playing,” he said to his uncooperative limb. He came up against the tree, leaning against it and sinking to the earth, laying his lute beside him. Shiro looked to the few stars he could see and sighed.

This sight was what drew him to the open road. Shiro loved that no matter how far he traveled, the stars were always there. Different constellations, and sometimes he would notice that one he had kept an eye out for was different enough in its place, but they twinkled and shone. Brightness to stare out from the consuming black and orange. He loved it. 

As he let his twitching arm down to his side, pain shocked through his hand.

“Ow,” he said. Shiro looked down. There, a rose, standing up with its thorns to protect it. A rose, but only one, somehow flowering well into fall. Shiro stared, enamored. In the pale twilight, he could tell that the petals were not red, but black. His hand went to touch it with more deliberate care than before. 

A caw from his left shocked Shiro’s sight to its origin. On a branch not that high up, a dark crow sat perched. No, not a crow. This was a raven. It cawed once more, louder. 

“You said it,” muttered Shiro, his eyes going back to the rose. He sought the bottom, where the thorns were too fresh to prick his skin. It was so beautiful, and even though he knew it would kill the beauty, he pulled. It came free without much effort, a string of roots following the stem. He smelled it, and the scent made his head flow as though he had taken hard liquor. He sniffed again and smiled.

The twilight dimmed, and Shiro sensed danger. Another caw from the raven, who took off in a flutter of wings. He rose to his feet, stumbling, and taking his lute case in his hand. He was ready to run. But in front of him, a shadow lifted itself into form. Shiro backed against the tree again, this time not letting his legs sink. From darkness, form.

His first impression was two words. Beautiful. Dangerous. Shiro saw a man, shorter than himself, with such fine angles on his face. Two markings on his cheeks, standing purple against pale skin. Violet eyes, drawn thin in rage. A mouth with pretty lips, pulled into a snarl. Tight, purple clothes that gave off a lithe form of sinew and muscle refined. Black hair braided back. Ears that stood pointed, their tips tapering off into purple. Shiro’s mouth went dry. This wasn’t a man. This was a creature who looked as likely to fuck you stupid as it was to tear out your throat. And given the body language it held, the latter was more likely.

“You dare…” The raspy voice was spiced honey mead in Shiro’s ears. “You dare to invade my home. To ignore my warnings. To break MY tree?! To insult ME?!” The voice swelled to a roar, and wind that had not been there whipped around Shiro. He shrank back against the tree, fear invading his mind. “You…” The man strode to him and held out a hand. A hand ending in clawed tips. It sought his chin, and Shiro did not resist. They took his chin. Those eyes… He fell into them, swooning and keeping still at once. “You… You’re a minstrel, yes?” Shiro nodded. “What is your name?” Some part of his mind remembered the tales. 

Don’t give him your name, some small part of his memory whispered. You have no power if you give him your name.

“Takashi…” whispered Shiro. “Takashi Shirogane.” He saw the mouth curl into a smile.

“You’re descended from the East, aren’t you, Takashi Shirogane?” Shiro whimpered and nodded. A laugh, rich and sweet, dark and malevolent. “You have made a grave slight upon my name, Takashi Shirogane. Most who dare this far die horribly. Do you want to die, Takashi Shirogane?” Shiro shook his head, a tear sliding from his eye. Those eyes investigated his soul, and Shiro saw something wild in them. Fire, and freedom. And… A cage. “Then I offer you penance. You will spend one year in the Faery Land with me. You will sing for me. You will play for me. Everything you are will be mine, for one year. Do you accept?” Shiro gasped for air. The hand did not choke him, but he was being smothered.

“I accept!” he choked out, his vision darkening. Then, there was only pain. Pain, and violet eyes.


	2. A Dance Began

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith dwells on what he never had, and seeks the small comforts at hand. Already within moments of waking up, Shiro is caught within the spell-like wonder of the Fae who has taken him for a year. In it's sudden rapture, both appear to understand there is more at play than mere whim.

To say that Keith had been angry was an understatement. It had been years since a human decided to trespass on his ground. That alone was enough to summon his vengeance for the insult it was. But for a human to ignore his warnings, to pluck the rose that was his gift to the human world? He hadn’t seen that kind of rage in centuries. Already lowly within the UnSeelie Court, he hated how other Fae treated him because of his origins. He would not take insults from humans kindly.

And yet, when he saw the human who had wronged him, he was stricken with something he could not name. Was it pity? He knew the human was sickly with some disease that threatened to overtake him, he could smell Death upon him. Was it that he would die, regardless of Keith’s actions, that gave him the ability to offer mercy? Here was a creature that was just as taken by Fate’s threads as much as himself. Was it attraction? The human had such features that Keith couldn’t deny drew him. Or was it that this human was the rare few who wrought music? Keith had long heard of the music humans made. Maybe he wanted to know if his music sounded as this human’s did.

The human had passed out from the pain of Keith’s magic, and Keith was left to gather him up with his lute. He picked the human up as easily as a child. He whistled, and the raven came back, transforming itself back into his true wolf form. Kosmo took the handle of the lute case in his mouth, and looked up at Keith, eyes questioning.

“I don’t know Kosmo,” Keith answered. He couldn’t decide what it was. But his senses told him that he had made the right choice. He looked to the tree and focused his mind. The path back to his home was there, waiting for him to call. He sang it into this world, and the whirlwind of intertwined realities opened for him and Kosmo to walk through.

As it always had been, flashes of worlds and different planes of existence flashed around him along the path he took. He could try and explore, but each was far tenuous than the link between Faery Land and the world of the humans. Even then, the strongest times were the safest to travel between. The thought of being trapped, of being even more of an outsider than he already was, held enough bite to keep him from looking further.

Keith found his footing as he stepped into the little cottage, the woods lighted by moonlight that never would abate. It was homely, this little place that he held.

Keith had to admit to himself, this human looked cute, asleep and peaceful. He shook his head and went to his other room. Kosmo deposited the lute beside the bed and followed him.

He came to the chest off the side and spoke a word that was more feeling than language. In this chest were the only two items that connected him with his past. To his mother. A dagger, and a small wire strung harp. He ghosted his hands over the blade, remembering his lessons with Kolivan, Ulaz, Thrace and the others in their circle. He had not heard from them in some time, and Keith imagined there was a good reason. It didn’t make the loneliness hurt less. Keith took up the harp, cradling it in his arms. He imagined it was the mother he had never seen. All he could remember was a pair of violet eyes, much like his own, that looked upon him with love. 

Keith had known early that he was a half breed, that his father was human, his mother Fae. He knew his father had passed from this world centuries ago, but despite all his searching, his mother had left no trace. A ghost in all but form, still living, but nowhere to be found. The pain of being abandoned, of being left to the vicious Court of the UnSeelie, was with him in every waking moment. If it had not been for Kolivan and the others, he might have grown to be as dark a figure as Macidus, or perhaps even Sendak. Even now, the desire to inflict pain upon another was strong.

Kolivan had been clear in his admitting that the UnSeelie were dark in nature. It was in their blood to inflict pain, this much was certain. They were much more animalistic than their Seelie cousins. They were born of the more primal, less restrained side of nature. But having that deep-seated desire, for it to be instinctual, did not mean he had to give into it. They might be born with it inside them, but they didn’t have to embrace it. So, every day after practicing with the blade, he learned from Kolivan the art of music. He had been taught to play with the beauty reminiscent of the Seelie Courts, to honor the light in him as well as the dark. Balance, Kolivan had said, is what separates us from others among our kind.

Keith took a seat on his three-legged stool and strung out a chord and followed with a simple melody. He played until he lost himself in the music. He wrapped himself in its comfort and let himself grieve for what he never really knew. All the while, the human slept.

-

Shiro woke with a headache. He remembered eyes, piercing eyes that bored into his soul. He had no idea where he was, but the sense of danger was not present. As he sat up, taking stock of his surroundings, he heard it. Harp strings, playing bright and making a longing tune. He sat up, feeling his arm tremble as he did. He willed it to stop, but the muscles contracted and released without his bidding. Shiro wished he was used to the pain, but he could never deal with the way his nerves blazed when it did this.

He let his arm fall to his side, his mind more interested in the music he heard.

He had always admired harpers. They were a rare sight, given the tentative nature of harps when on the road. If lutes were difficult to care for, harps were ten times more so. Most harpers of any skill managed to get picked up for patronage, playing for the courts of lords or kings. Shiro had tried, but his strumming hand would not conform. The tremors that wracked his body did not allow the deftness needed to play. So, he had settled with the lute, and it was a wonderful second choice. But he still held the love for it. 

The notes being plucked were haunting. Lonely. Bright in sound, bitter in soul. This was not music played for others, but music played to comfort one’s own self. Shiro couldn’t help feeling like he was encroaching on two lovers in the act. But he stood and looked around for its source. 

He was in a small cabin. It was cramped, but cozy. A fireplace lay off to the right-hand corner, a small flame burning heat into the home. Plants hung above the cobble stone, leaves and roots set to dry, and the rung for a cauldron pot set above the pit added to its homely feel. A bookcase filled with leather bound tomes stood against the wall, the wood not cut, but grown out of the paneling. Windows of stained glass were thrown open, letting in a soft breeze. 

Shiro noted that even the air tasted different. Like there was sweet fruit that had been diced not too far from where he was standing. It filled his lungs with more sustenance than air had ever had before.

The music that flowed from the only other room made it feel like a dream. But Shiro was sure that he wasn’t dreaming as he took soft steps forward.

He carefully looked around the corner of the room, and his breath was stolen at once.

He was definitely not dreaming. Sitting on a stool beside a small chest was the Fae who had confronted him before the tree. He was beautiful. His skin was pale, like he never let the sun grace his skin. Those pointed ears were topped with the purple fur, that same shade as the two slash like marks that ran down his cheeks. His hair was set in a simple triple braid, easily long enough to reach the middle of his back. The tight purple shirt and trousers left little to the imagination of the kind of muscle-bound leanness he had. And he held a small wire strung harp in his lap, playing it with the tips of clawed fingers. Animal and human features blended, making something wholly different from either. Something much, much better, in Shiro’s opinion. His eyes were closed, a focus on the music flowing right from his soul.

Then there was the music. It was tragically beautiful. Loneliness dripped from it, and it called out to Shiro like no other music had before. This Fae knew the kind of soul- freezing isolation that Shiro had become akin to for the last few wandering years. The kind of loneliness where you can sense it even in a crowded room. Shiro’s heart ached, torn between two realizations. This was emotion bound in music, something he always sought to replicate, to make his own. And before him was another who knew the world as Shiro did. He let out a sigh, and a tear fell down his cheek.

The music stopped, and those eyes were open again, looking right at him. Shiro still couldn’t breathe, and now he was rooted to the spot. Those eyes had the same wild manner, hungry and unpredictable. Like a fox caught in a trap, eyeing you as you tried to approach it to free it. Those eyes didn’t know friend from foe, and one wrong move would get your hand torn off. Shiro wanted to speak, but words failed him. He was terrified. He blinked, and the Fae was in front of him, the harp discarded on the chest. 

He was lost in those violet eyes. They held stars within them. Despite Shiro being taller than the Fae, he felt no edge. There was no strength in his limbs, and he would have swayed where he stood. But the eyes told him to stay upright, and he could not disobey. He was so close, and Shiro’s lungs burned for air again. A hand reached up, cupping around his neck. Those claws brushed his skin and heat welled up inside him. It bent him down, bringing his face to his captures. Those lips were so close to his own. When they made contact, Shiro felt himself falling while staying upright. Warmth, spreading throughout his body. Somewhere in his mind, he registered that his arm had stopped shaking. Teeth came next in the kiss, tugging on his lower lip, than a tongue came to mix with his own. It was passionate, and dirty, and Shiro felt himself relax fully as another hand gripped his waist. He leaned into it. 

Shiro wasn’t a praying man, but he felt himself wishing to whatever Gods could hear him that this moment would never end.

-

Anger had flared up once more when Keith saw Shiro in the threshold of the room. Keith hadn’t meant to fall into the trance his playing had put him in. He hadn’t let anyone hear his playing in years. It was far too intimate, too pain laced, and in the UnSeelie Court, such vulnerability only assured that it would be used against you. 

But Keith softened when he saw the human’s face. Recognition, kin and heartfelt knowing. It was a sight of such brazen honesty, no guard held up against intentions. Keith almost doubted it, if not for the tear that was sliding down his cheek. Such vulnerability invoked something in him. In that moment, he knew why he had spared the him.

Here was another soul that knew, not the same as him, but held the understanding of just what Keith had gone through. This was a person who understood what it was like. This one was…

Keith was on him at once, his kiss hot and probing. He knew he should stop, should talk, but there was a need to be as close to this human as one could be. His body ached to share whatever he could, finally letting some walls down in the proximity of someone who knew him without knowing him. Seeking purchase on the larger body, his claws dug deeper than they should, and Shiro moaned into his mouth. Keith drew them against the back of his neck, and the human trembled in his hands. It had been so long since he had really touched another being, and already, Keith felt himself being undone. 

He took the Shiro’s shirt and tore into the back of it with his claws, tearing it to shreds with ease. He pulled the tattered bits from his body and sought out the skin beneath. He pressed him into stepping back, towards the bed, clawing up and down his human’s body. He drew red pressure lines on the skin, not deep enough to draw blood but deep enough to mark.

Shiro sang in his mouth, and Keith growled back. Blood rushed in his head as he felt large hands grip his waist, holding him tight. The human broke their kiss for a moment and took down a few breaths before Keith was back on him, sucking on his lips desperately. There was a press against his waist. The human strained against his trousers. This validation, a return of want, thrilled all the veins in Keith’s body. He wasn’t rejected. Desired. It made him push further, his treatment of Shiro’s trousers more savage than the shirt.

Keith felt his shirt being pulled up, and he relented his grabbing hands to allow it. The human was pressing back now, his own fingers trailing over Keith’s body. They were gentle, but no less searching for the places that made Keith gasp and groan. When one found a nipple and caressed it, he let out a moan and threw his head back. A mouth was on his neck at once, sucking into it and licking the spot to follow it. Keith racked the human’s back, this time surely drawing blood, and the human yelled in his neck.

They made their way to the bed like this, groping and searching each other, finding the layout of each other’s body. An unspoken agreement, a knowing truth between them that this is all they could have ever wanted, that didn’t need words. Keith pushed him onto his back, straddling atop his hips, gripping his shoulders. He would take this. It had been so long that he held back, had been contained, and now, there was no reason to try. He cried out, growled, he bit, he scratched. And the man below him only egged him on with whimpered cries. 

Somewhere along this fevered state, Keith had pushed Shiro’s length inside him, reveling in the way that it strained his body with its size. He rode up and down it, tearing down his lover’s chest, and he threw his head up. Sweat covered them both, and the man below rocked up into him as much as he slammed down. Keith made no attempt to reign himself in, and the man was just as lost. They locked eyes, and knew there would be no regret in this, or any other moment they shared. Keith bent over and took another kiss. Hands came and wrapped around his back, holding him tightly. A steady series of thrusts pumped into Keith, and he screamed against the Shiro’s neck before digging his teeth into his neck. He saw spots as he was ravaged, and the cry that the man made when Keith bit him only egged him on. Warmth shot inside Keith just as he spent himself onto the Shiro’s chest with a muffled growl.

Neither stopped, this connection spurring them on in a mix of lust and bonding. They held onto each other for dear life as they moved their bodies with everything they had. Keith didn’t know how many times he came, nor how many times Shiro did either. They were a mess of sweat, blood dripping from the marks they gave each other. When sleep claimed them, Keith fell on top of his human. HIS human.

The last coherent thought he had was one of blossoming joy.

-

Shiro woke to a heaviness atop him. He felt grimy with sweat, and heavy with exhaustion. More present, was a contentedness that bloomed within. Shards of memories flowed, time being fluid as shots of the beautiful creature that lay on top of him came back into his mind’s eye. He twitched, and a growl came from the Fae, the arms around him tightening. He held still, gripping back just as tightly. The Fae nuzzled into his neck, and Shiro moaned. He was wrecked in the best way he could remember being wrecked. 

He lay there, in some state of unconscious haze, blissful and unthinking. After a time, he felt the Fae lift himself up, and he looked within those eyes once more only to get lost among them again. The braid had come undone somewhere in the coupling and his hair sprawled over his back and down his shoulders. Shiro couldn’t think of a more lovely man if he tried.

They stared at each other, each unable or unwilling to break this silence between them. The Fae chose to be first.

“If I had known humans were as resilient as you are, I would have captured one long ago.” The voice was strained, rougher from the sounds that had poured out of him earlier. Shiro chuckled softly.

“If I had known that committing offense to the Fae would give me the time of my life, I would have done so a thousand times over.” Shiro was enamored by that rumbling that came from the Fae’s chest, a gentle vibration that filled his core with the knowledge that he had somehow satisfied the wild creature. “I usually ask a person’s name before I lay with them, but…” Shiro let that trail off before continuing. “Please, what is your name?”

“Keith.” Shiro reached up and placed a kiss, slow and soft, onto his lips. He let himself fall when the strain of his muscles became too much. Keith smiled, pleased. “You dance well in the bedroom, Takashi Shirogane.”

“Shiro. Please, just Shiro.” Keith held himself up, looking down, and Shiro could not take his eyes off him. They were there for an eternity before Keith broke the silence once more.

“We should wash then, Shiro. There is a spring near my home we can use.” He nimbly got to his feet and reached out a hand for Shiro to take. Tired as he was, Shiro took it and got to his feet. Something in him, Fae magic, his own desire to be with Keith, knew one thing was for certain. He wouldn’t ever be able to tell Keith no.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is definitely a shameless sex scene, and I don't regret it. This Keith takes what he wants, and he won't be denied it.


End file.
